


pick your player (and hope someone wins)

by Wiegenlied



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dimension Travel, Multi, but he doesn't get it, harry has many admirers and suitors, how does one tag effectively
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:48:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20928227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiegenlied/pseuds/Wiegenlied
Summary: When Harry gets thrown back in time and space into a world that is uncannily similar yet distinctly different from his own, he works hard to establish himself as a man of his own merit, running a pub of his own.Little does he know, the Minister for Magic, a skilled seamstress, a professional Quidditch player, a visiting Defence professor from Durmstrang, and a recent graduate from Hogwarts have plans of their own for the green-eyed wizard.None of which align in nature. Not at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic started off as a crazy, crazy idea I shared in the discord server, not expecting it to go any further than the small drabble I had written. But it, much to my immense surprise and joy, received so much love that I had to get writing some more. The tone will change as the chapters progress and as the character do too. This will be a longer fic, for which I already have three chapters written (among many more to be added in the future), and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it 💕

It had been a few hours before Harry noticed.

The day had started like any other weekday. His alarm spell went off at exactly 5:00, then 5:10, then 5:15, and continued until it hit 6:00 and Harry finally tumbled out of bed, wayward strands of sleep-mussed hair sticking out in every direction.

Six months had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry was still trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life.

While the Wizarding World celebrated the victory the Light had brought, it was still wrought with grief and pain. People mourned their loved ones and those of other families, murmured condolences shared at almost every gathering. The Weasleys tried to get Harry to go out more often, to interact with more than just the confines of Grimmauld Place. 

But he liked waking up early-

_ Quiet, morning light filtering through the thing shafts in the vent, the entire household slumbering except for a little boy hidden under the stairs. _

-and setting a routine for the day. He would wake on his own terms, get some breakfast with Kreacher and try not to let the bat-like ears remind him of someone else. He'd spend the rest of the day exploring the attic and basement of Grimmauld Place. So many relics, so much history collecting dust, hidden from sight. It was a good way for Harry to relax. To enjoy the quiet, imagining that every rustle and scratch from his movements brought him closer to family. To his parents, to his godfather, to his professor.

To home.

As he picked up a particularly heavy box Harry stumbled, the contents spilling out onto the floor. He panicked for a brief moment before sighing, noticing that only minor trinkets and several photographs had fallen out. He sat down, going through each item one by one, blowing off the thick layer of dust before giving it a good rub with his jumper.

Harry carefully set the trinkets aside as he continued to peruse the spilled contents. He found a stack of photos, a mix of Muggle and wizarding in nature as seen by how some moved and other did not. Harry idly flicked through them, before he realized that the people in them looked familiar.

A sandy haired boy, seated by the fireplace in the Gryffindor Dormitory with the light from the flames putting the scars on his face into stark relief. A dark haired boy with a roguish smile, little arm swung around another boy in spectacles, who was winking at the camera. A girl with hair the colour of the setting sun, smiling sweetly as she sat by the Great Lake. 

It had been months since Harry had last seen them, yes. 

But Harry still ached. 

When he went to sleep that night, photos tucked into thin hands, Harry’s last thought before darkness claimed him was simple.

_ “If only things were different.” _

Unbeknownst to Harry, deep within the recesses of his magical core, something began to hum.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up and made his way downstairs to eat breakfast. Oddly enough, the house-elf was seated on the table, something Harry had been convincing him to do, without any success, for the past several months. Just last week, Kreacher had reluctantly agreed to at least stay in the same room while Harry ate. Clearly, things were still a work in progress- until now.

Humming pleasantly, Harry chose not to say anything about it, fearing that if he brought attention to this fact, Kreacher would revert to eating on the kitchen floor again.

As he stretched after drinking his morning tea, he glanced over at the pantry and noticed that they were running out of food. This is when Harry noticed something else that was… out of the norm.

When he stepped outside of Number 12, jeans and hoodie snugly fitted on, he saw that no one else was wearing jeans. Even simpler, there weren’t many people outside to begin with, as opposed to the lunch rush that would usually be out at the moment. Shrugging this off, Harry found a quiet corner and apparated to the Leaky. 

This is when Harry noticed fact number three.

The owner, the workers, heck, even the menu at the Leaky had changed. Most importantly, where people would usually begin whispering as soon as he made an appearance, now they simply ignored him, or smiled politely when they caught his gaze. 

Harry began to understand that something was very, very wrong.

Diagon Alley only confirmed Harry’s worst fears. Eeylops Owl Emporium was still there, and so was Ollivanders and Gringotts. But some shops, like Madam Malkin's and the Magical Menagerie were gone.

When Harry went to Gringotts, the goblins didn’t recognize him, and a blood test showed that he had no connections to any families in their records.

When he tried to visit the Burrow, the wards wouldn’t recognize him.

His Patronus to Ron and Hermione went unanswered.

At a loss, Harry apparated back to Grimmauld Place. 

“Kreacher,” Harry stammered, “We have a problem.”

* * *

From what Harry could understand, he was no longer in his own time. No longer in his own universe, to be specific. After doing some research, he discovered that several major historic events in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds had never taken place. Grindelwald didn’t seem to exist in this timeline, and no one Harry asked had ever heard of a wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore. No one knew of Voldemort, or even a single death eater.

It was now April, as opposed to the December it should have been. 

It was 1970, and Harry was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry gave himself the rest of that first day in an unknown world to panic. Even the Kreacher he had come home to was a different one from the one he’d shared a meal with just last night. When Harry had voiced his concerns and the odd things he’s seen at Diagon Alley, Kreacher had simply shuffled forward and snapped his knobbly fingers, making Harry’s forehead smart.

“Kreacher!” Harry yelped. “What was that for?!”

“Master Harry be needing some potions for sickness,” the aging elf grumbled, wandering off into the next room, clattering the many vials on the shelf on his way. “Master Harry be needing to sleep more.”

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief before he raced forward, grabbing the elf’s shoulder before he could pass him by. He scrambled to come up with a question that would test the elf's knowledge. Clearly things had changed- maybe the elf's history had too? “Kreacher, do you know of the Blacks?”

Kreacher squinted at Harry, clearly confused as to why Harry was questioning him so suddenly. When no answer or explanation from Harry was forthcoming, the elf grumbled some more before nodding. “Kreacher be knowing the Blacks, yes.”

Harry’s chest swelled before his throat tightened. He had no guarantee that meant Sirius was alive, or had even lived. “Where are the Blacks, Kreacher? Why aren’t they here?”

Shouldn’t this be their ancestral home?

Kreacher’s whiskery brows rose before he responded.

“Because, Master Harry,” he began. “They is being dead for centuries.”

* * *

Kreacher had already taken to hovering outside any room Harry was in, worried he would find his Master unconscious from the lack of food or sleep. 

Harry refused to eat when he could have used that time to find a solution.

He locked himself in for a week before he admitted to himself, defeated, that he couldn’t find his way back.

* * *

The following week, he was the first customer to enter Gringotts to make his case with the goblins. Now that he was stuck in a time and world where he had no money and savings to fall back on, he needed to find some way to earn a living. Quite honestly, if he stayed locked in Grimmauld Place’s library any longer, he would go mad with distress. 

“Good morning,” Harry said, keeping in mind that it was best to be as polite and straightforward as he could be. “I’d like to open an account under my name, and apply for a loan.”

The goblin (called Gruknast, Harry read from the gold nameplate on the desk) peered over its spectacles at Harry for a few moments before puffing out a, “Very well, follow me.”

Harry was led into a small room with a single desk of dark wood, polished to gleam at viewers from a distance. He made sure to have a seat only after the Gruknast had taken one first, folding his hands in his lap while trying to hide how badly they were shaking.

He needed this meeting to end favourably.

“Well, Mr. Potter, in order to apply for a loan, there are three things you must submit to Gringotts,” the goblin began, numbering off the requirements on his clawed hands. “The first is your wand for documentation. The second is your blood, which shall also be used to set up your personal vault. Lastly,” and here the goblin grinned. “Is a vow taken on your magic that you will not renege on your loan without doing your utmost to have it repaid, among several other exceptions that you can find on this list.”

A piece of parchment popped into existence, several feet in length, in front of Harry.

“Please have a look at all the fine print before submitting the blood and your wand, which I can examine in a few moments for you right here.”

Harry nodded, leaning forward and pushing his glasses up as he read through the list once, twice, and a third time before using a minor cutting spell on his index finger. A small droplet of blood welled up, and Harry pressed it to the parchment, which then popped out of existence. Harry set his own wand in front of the goblin, watching as Gruknast lifted it delicately, turning it this way and that as he jotted down some notes on another official-looking document before it, too, disappeared. Once the documentation for the application process had been completed, the goblin leaned forwards, sharp nails clacking on the desk in a rhythm.

“Now then, Mr. Potter,” Gruknast said, giving what Harry approximated was the equivalent of a courteous smile. “How much of a loan will you be requiring, and what will it be for? Bear in mind that this will influence the amount that will be released to you, the interest that will be charged, and the timeline for repayment that will be given.”

_ *** _

_ Ron grinned, giving Harry a fierce hug which was followed by an even tighter one from Hermione. “We’ll go to a pub, the three of us, when we get back from this trip.” _

_ Harry chuckled, smiling at his two closest friends. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “You should make the most of this exchange trip and sight-see to your heart’s content. You need some time off after-” Harry faltered, falling silent. After the war, went unsaid. Ron nudged him with a fist to his shoulder, trying to lighten the sudden depressing mood. _

_ “And so do you, Harry. Won’t you come with?” _

_ He shook his head, pushing Hermione and Ron once more towards the door. “Go have fun, you two,” Harry said. “I’ll still be here when you get back, waiting with a round of drinks with our names on it.” _

_ *** _

Harry clutched his fingers together. _‘This is going to work,’_ he thought. _‘It has to.’_

“I’d like to open a shop,” Harry finally said aloud, palms sweating. “I was thinking a pub? Of sorts. Not to compete with the Leaky or anything but- yeah, um. A pub.”

Gruknast nodded, as though people came to open new shops all the time- for all Harry knew, that might actually be the case in this world. He tapped a pointed finger to his chin before he snapped his fingers once more, another official document popping into existence. 

“In that case, there are several prerequisites that must be fulfilled.”

* * *

This was how Harry found himself in Diagon Alley now, applying for jobs at any of the shops that seemed willing to hear him out. He tried at the Leaky first, before heading on to Amanuensis Quills, the Apothecary, and Brooms Brake’s Services in turn. The owners seemed kind enough, pausing patiently to give Harry a chance to make his case.

In order to apply for a loan of that scale, Harry needed to have at least two years of working experience under his belt, and at least one exceptional letter of recommendation. With his OWLs being non-existent in this time, it was difficult to even get close to completing the first requirement.

Bramble Cassowary, proud owner of a broom supply and repair store, frowned thoughtfully as he scratched his greying beard. “I can see why you’re so distressed, lad,” he said. “Although the people of Diagon are kind-hearted, it’s difficult to hire someone with no credentials. You have no OWL results or NEWTs on record, you said?”

Harry, feeling disheartened, nodded. “I know I don’t have anything backing me,” Harry said, meeting the shop owner’s gaze without fear. “But I’m a hard worker, and I’m persistent, and I’m willing to learn anything that you’ll teach me.”

The aging wizard heaved a gusty sigh before looking Harry over, taking in the oversized clothing that seemed to hang off the boy’s thin form, the purpling shadows underneath his eyes, the frazzled dark hair. “Well then... first order of business,” the wizard said. “Is to get some food in you.”

* * *

Working as an apprentice, assistant, and employee at a broom repair shop was interesting, to say the least. People from all walks of life seemed to stop by, from overwhelmed mothers with little children, to shop owners who needed repairs for their own brooms, to excited Quidditch fans that wanted to see if there were any new upgrades to be added to their broomsticks.

Harry spent his first few days settling in, familiarizing himself with the various tools and spells that could be used for repairs. Some items, like the specialized polish for windblown thistles, were similar to what Harry had in his own maintenance kit in the future, which made things a little less overwhelming to understand.

On the fifth day, Harry was sent to the apothecary next door to purchase some potions for the shop that Mr. Cassowary needed. The man chuckled when Harry voiced his confusion. “Lad, potions are used in almost all professions! Didn’t your professor ever mention that?”

Harry had just shrugged sheepishly in response before heading out, pouch filled with several sickles and galleons on hand.

Gunju’s Apothecary (yet another new shop in this world) was one that Harry had never entered before. The building was wide in nature, as opposed to the more common long and narrow layout most shop owners preferred, with bricks of deep blue and green surrounding the door. Upon entering, Harry found himself in a cool room filled with shelves that went from floor to ceiling, holding countless vials and jars of ingredients. Narrow shafts of sunlight filtered through the curtained windows, brightening the space enough for Harry to look around for the owner. As he stumbled over a loose floorboard near the front desk, a muffled “Be right there,” was called to him from the back of the store.

Harry busied himself with searching for the list of ingredients and potions needed for the shop inside his bag, which was how he missed the employee’s entrance.

“Gunju’s Apothecary,” a bored voice drawled, enunciating the words in a heart-stoppingly familiar way. “What are you looking for?”

Slowly, disbelievingly, Harry raised his eyes-

_ Blood, turning robes and hands a deep crimson as it continued to flow out, a man’s final breaths escaping him, a final revelation that he had never known all these years- _

-and saw the first familiar face he had ever come across since travelling to this new world.

“Professor Snape,” Harry whispered. “What’re you doing here?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for you dani, for making my every day so much brighter than the last. And to you, Wolven, for giving me the confidence to keep this story going.
> 
> Beta for this chapter was done by the lovely [Atlanta_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black) 💕

The man- or was he a ghost, a hallucination?- arched a single, dark brow in response. His gaze swept from the top of Harry’s unruly, untamed hair to the bottom of his torn running shoes. His nose wrinkled in disgust. 

Harry took a moment to, almost disbelievingly, take in his former professor himself. The lanky, greasy hair was the same; although a bit shorter than he remembered. The nose was a little less crooked than he remembered, making the man’s face look smaller, more slender in comparison. Dressed in black robes over a white, potion-stained shirt, the man looked as though he had just been interrupted during a brewing session.

“Do I know you?” he eventually drawled out, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. 

Harry almost flinched, hopelessness and disbelief warring within himself. The familiar voice was filled with bitter distaste. It was enough to make Harry take a second, more thorough examination of the man before him. There was something about Snape that seemed off, something different—

Harry almost choked on his next breath when he realized what it was.

Snape looked younger than he had in Harry’s first year.

Snape looked older than he had in the pensieve memories from his fifth year.

This wasn’t _ his _ ‘Professor Snape’ at all. Which made sense, in a twisted sort of way, since it was similar to the situation with Kreacher. Although the elf knew Harry, and still served him as the master of the house, he wasn't the same elf from his original world. But... wizards and witches seemed to be an exception to the rule. Thus far, Harry hasn't found a single person who shares at least the _face_ with someone from his own time.

Perhaps this was a relative of Snape's, then? But for a relative to look this similar, he had to be a son, or a father, or a _sibling_ at the very least. Harry forced himself to continue the conversation, even though not-Snape looked as though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I’m sorry, you just- er, you look really similar to someone I know,” Harry forced out, hoping that his chuckle sounded more sheepish than hysterical. “I’m Harry, by the way. Harry Potter, I work next door as Mr. Cassowary’s apprentice.”

Harry, albeit a little hesitantly, held his hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Not-Snape frowned, looking distrustfully at Harry’s outstretched hand. There’s a beat, two, three before he’s sighing and, almost regretfully, putting his hand in Harry’s.

“I’m Severus Snape, the apprentice here for Mr. Gunju.,” he said, tone sullen.

Harry only hoped the sudden widening of his eyes didn’t make him look any more idiotic.

* * *

Harry quickly learned that the Severus Snape of this world, was simultaneously very similar, and yet at the same time, drastically different from the Snape in his own. He had the same passion and wicked talent for potions and spells; which Mr. Gunju was quite proud to attest to. His bitter, scathing words that were directed towards Harry were the same. Which made it difficult for Harry to even start, let alone continue, a conversation. After observing the shop for a few days, and discreetly questioning the customers that visited, he learned that people tended to avoid Snape because of his difficult personality. Still, they would admit he had talent.

“A genius, that one is,” old Mrs. Flibbet nodded, happily accepting Harry’s assistance in carrying her things. “My joints have never been better than after he added in those extra Abraxan hairs.”

Harry found himself visiting the Apothecary as often as he could, doing his best to get on good terms with the dour man. It was plenty awkward- after all, here was the man that used to be his professor, that had hated him with a passion, and constantly scowled regardless of what was said to him! 

Still, he was the only link Harry had to his own time.

‘Besides,’ Harry thought to himself. ‘This seems to be a world where my father never existed. Which means, for better or for worse, I can start off with Snape on a clean slate.’

Regardless of how scathing Snape was to Harry, he wasn’t discouraged. There was a time or two where Mr. Gunju had simply patted Harry on the back after a particularly sad attempt, advising him that perhaps Snape was best left alone. Yet, Snape’s face was free of the lines of stress and age. With Harry able to see the man as he went about his daily routine- brewing, shopping, and advising customers- his appearance was a lot softer around the edges. Making him unexpectedly (and slightly horrifyingly) endearing in Harry’s mind.

This was probably the reason why Harry had held out long enough for Snape to, grudgingly, accept him as something close to a friend. 

* * *

Harry had come by the Apothecary to pick up another supply of ingredients and potions for Mr. Cassowary. He had finally been getting the hang of doing repairs on his own, and was excited to try something new, with Snape’s latest fly-away elixir.

“Well, well,” Snape said as he entered. Harry had visited often enough and made himself enough of an annoyance in Snape’s mind that a special alarm spell had been set to signal his arrival. “It’s Potter. Again.”

Harry’s lips twitched slightly before forming into a wry smile directed at the potion apprentice. “Yeah, yeah, Severus. It’s me. Mr. Cassowary wants the usual.”

Snape heaved a put-upon sigh before reaching under the desk and pulling out a large bag. “Anything else?”

He grinned, making his way past unopened boxes of unshelved ingredients. Placing an elbow on the desk, he winked at the unimpressed man cheekily.

“And how would my favourite potions master to-be in the whooole wide world like to have some lunch with me today? I tried making something new and I need your opinion.”

Severus squinted, looking down his nose at Harry. The last time he had agreed to try ‘something new’ without first asking what it was, he had been forced to eat one of the worst things he had ever tasted in his life. “That depends,” he began, “On what it is. I’m never eating a pie made by your incompetent hands ever again.”

The boy laughed, nudging Severus (gently- because he had learned from the flinch he’d received the first time) on the shoulder. “Fair enough, Snape. Now c’mon, wrap things up. I know it’s lunch break for you now too, Mr. Gunju told me so.”

Severus rolled his eyes. Honestly, Mr. Gunju acted as though he never ate. He’d only skipped meals… a few… alright, many times. Once Potter began showing concern about when Severus took breaks to rest and eat in front of Mr. Gunju, the two had become fast friends. Mutual companionship over the desire to feed and fuss over others, he supposed. Surely Harry had been in Hufflepuff. He seemed just the type.

He discreetly peeked over at Potter as he tidied up, taking in the smaller male’s form. It had been a few months since they had first met, and they had grown used to each other’s company. Eventually Severus had realized that no amount of bitter, acerbic, and sullen commentary was about to drive Potter’s attention away from him. He had realized that it might simply be better to reluctantly engage with the man instead. Perhaps once he realized that Severus was not interesting in any way, he would grow tired and leave him in peace.

Despite all hopes otherwise, Potter still hadn’t left. Somehow, the boy seemed to have grown to genuinely care about him, and Severus found it far too easy to reciprocate that emotion in return.

So Severus took it upon himself, as Potter’s seemingly only friend, to ensure that he too ate his meals on time and that he took the time to relax when he could. Potter was no longer hollow cheeked, and his face had the freshness of one that was getting a good night's rest. His hair, however, was as much as a mess as it ever was. Always sticking every which way despite Potter’s constant attempts, and Severus’s many potions, to flatten it down. 

‘All things considered,’ Severus wryly mused to himself as he flipped the sign on the apothecary door, requesting customers check back an hour later to visit., ‘Potter seems to be my only friend too.’ He glanced over at Potter, Harry only in the depths of his mind, who was whistling merrily. A soft smile was sent Severus’s way when their gazes met. 

‘Not that I mind it at all.’

* * *

“I want to open a shop of my own,” Potter said as Severus took a tentative bite of Harry’s newest creation. This one, thankfully, tasted good- but then again, Severus firmly held the belief that anything containing chocolate was bound to taste good.

He chewed slowly, taking Potter’s profile into consideration. Weren’t his clothes getting a little too frayed? Severus should teach him the new mending spell he had perfected the other night. “Why not just continue working at the broom shop? You seem happy enough there.”

Potter simply smiled, tucking his knees close to his chest as he wrapped one arm around them, the other hand fiddling with several blades of grass. 

“I like helping people, y’know? And I’ve always enjoyed Quidditch, so working with brooms on a daily basis is rewarding too. It’s just…” and here he trailed off, gaze turning distant as he looked down, remembering something Severus couldn’t understand. “I want to be around people, listening to their words, giving them someplace comforting to come to. And... ”

_"Mate," Ron laughed. "Come with, won't you?"_

_Hermione pulled at Harry's sleeve. "We'll miss you, y'know. What's the so-called 'golden trio' without the three of us?"_

He looked up, dark lashes framing green, _ green _ eyes as he dramatically sighed. “Unfortunately, the only place I can do that is a pub. Woe is me, to deal with the drunk on a daily basis.”

Severus smirked, knocking his shoulder, just shy of too hard, into Potter’s. “Well then,” he said. “To famous Harry Potter, dunderhead of epic proportions. Here’s to taking on the impossible, disastrous title of ‘babysitter of the drunk and distraught’.”

Potter, as he always did when called a dunderhead, laughed merrily in response.

* * *

Gruknast shuffled the paperwork that lay between himself and Mr. Potter. True to his words, the man was back at Gringotts two years later, with the work experience and savings needed in order to complete his request for a loan. The goblin frowned thoughtfully as the young wizard signed the final papers, which would make him the newest owner for a shop down Uknatcher Alley;, a lesser known offshoot from Diagon Alley. For an additional fee, Gringotts would act as an intermediary between Mr. Potter and the leasing agent, ensuring that Mr. Potter would get the most fair price on the market. The goblin grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the light. ‘Well, the most fair price on the market that will benefit Gringotts as well,’ he thought to himself. ‘After all, that’s what interest rates are for.’

Eventually, the green-eyed wizard set his quill down, giving the papers another once-over before nodding firmly, satisfied with the lease and loan details. The goblin morphed his smile into one that was a little less sharp. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter.”


	4. Chapter 4

The tracking spell vanished, pulsing one final piercing blue flash before it faded into darkness.  He could taste the familiar sense of disappointment,  bubbling deep within.  Another city, another failure.  The chase had brought him to every corner of this Merlin forsaken continent. 

But he couldn't give in, not yet. The hunt had only just begun.

“Not here anymore,” he sighed. The wizard turned and looked up towards the looming mountain peaks, jagged and deep set against the horizon. Its peaks, snow-white and covered in frost, glistened despite the immense distance from where he was standing. At this time of year, a normal human would freeze to death within a few short minutes. It was a quick death, yes, but insidious in nature- the cold would, almost unnoticeably, creep into the fingers first. The nails would turn blue and would twitch spasmodically before the deadly chill crawled up the arms, finally resting in the lungs. 

But he wasn’t 'normal,' was he?

He tried one final spell, even more complex in nature. His voice lilted and deepened in turns, muscles straining and sweat beading on his brow as the _Persequor_ spell thrummed into existence. It pulsed in waves, following the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Most wizards spent their whole lives unaware that this spell drew magical energy from one’s own heart. He could feel how it wound through the organ, drawing upon his energy in deep, greedy pulls. A mere waver in his control would allow it to swallow his heart whole- but it was a risk he was willing to take to capture the slippery, cunning, rogue wizard he had been chasing for so long.

He focused on the swirling hues of colour the spell created, reading and interpreting as he continued to hold the magic in place. It confirmed the suspicions he had since the last location- 

Grindelwald wasn’t in Russia any more.

He sighed once more, heavier and more drawn out. It was time to move on to the next continent, then. Thanks to the  _ Perseqour _ spell, he even knew where to spread his search next.

Cedric Diggory turned in place, and apparated himself to Great Britain for the first time in many, many years.

* * *

Severus took another discreet glance at the clock, hoping that the client before him didn’t notice that this was the second time in less than a minute that he had done so. Potter was, hopefully, getting his loan approved at Gringotts right now, and Severus couldn’t help but glance at the clock one more time, cursing the fact that time wasn't passing by any faster.

Shouldn’t he be back by now? Did it not get approved? Was Potter stuck outside the Apothecary, too embarrassed to tell Severus what had happened?

It was another fifteen minutes of anxious pacing before the door to the Apothecary burst open, and there Potter stood in the doorway. The wizard’s face showed no emotion as he looked at the potioneer, lips pursed and brows drawn together.

“Severus,” he began. “I…”

Severus stalked over, folding his arms to hide the fine trembling that was going through his hands. He knew how important this was to Harry. Two years of seeing Harry work relentlessly, day in and day out, steadily persevering despite the odds and how ill he felt had shown that. 

“You?” he drawled, straining to maintain his usual air of casual disdain.

The wild-haired wizard's face split into a smile, snapping his fingers as a piece of parchment popped into existence. “I got the loan! You are now looking at the proud, dashing, most talented and humble and amazing-” Severus rolled his eyes as Potter continued, relief coursing through him in waves, “Owner of the newest pub, coming to an alley near you.”

“Well, go on then,” he sneered, though the playful nudge on the younger wizard’s shoulder betrayed his eager curiosity. “Out with it!”

Harry positively glowed with excitement. He hadn't told Severus the name out of some foolish, dunderheaded muggle superstition that sharing the words would somehow destroy any chances of the pub becoming a reality. He had been sitting on the name for a good two years now, and Severus had waited long enough to hear it.

The wizard smiled, a mischievous glint shining within the depths of his green eyes as he leaned forward. “I’ve called it,” he began, “The Golden Stag.” 

The potioneer mulled the words over in his mind, breaking it down as he did so. A group of three, not bad at all. Strength, luck, and social ease.

He said it aloud, trying to figure out how the words felt on his tongue. It was a strong name, balanced, and fierce without seeming dangerous. The name didn’t bring anything Dark in nature to mind, and would invite patronage from Light wizards as well, despite the notoriously suspicious Alley where it would be located.

“A fine name,” Severus eventually murmured, to which Potter’s smile seemed to glow even brighter. 

“I still don’t understand why you chose to hold it from me for so long, however,” he continued. “Is the stag an important animal to you somehow?”

Harry hummed, tilting his head consideringly as he twirled his wand, no longer meeting Severus’ gaze. The question had reminded Harry of something. He seemed smaller, Severus saw. A little frail, a touch vulnerable. He bit his tongue at the thought of taking his words back. 

He would trust Harry with the choice of sharing the information, or holding it back.

“Expecto Patronum,” Harry suddenly whispered. Severus’ eyes widened uncharacteristically in shock, blown away by the sight of the silvery mist that flowed out from Harry’s wand, coalescing into an unmistakable figure. It came forward, nuzzling Harry’s face, its ears flicking silently when it faced Severus.

'His guardian,’ he thought. 

Glancing at Harry’s hunched figure, he sighed. ‘Someone lost.’

Severus brushed his fingers gently, gently to Harry’s hand in the ensuing silence.

* * *

In the first few weeks after Harry opened his pub, Harry discovered that customers were difficult to either attract or come by. A lot of the issues stemmed from where his shop was located. Although it was an offshoot of Diagon Alley, it was one wizards and witches tended to avoid because of the stigma associated with it. Which made sense, since Harry was just a stone’s throw away from a Dark artefacts specialist, a diner  specifically  for Dark creatures, and a shop people suspected was run by someone ‘not quite wizard.’ Harry had scoffed when he first heard of the rumors, choosing to investigate things on his own.

Turns out, the rumors weren’t all that far off.

But Harry didn't mind any of these things, really. Mr. Cygnet always had something very cool (and very illegal) to show Harry when he stopped by, Mr and Mrs. Medlar had some of the best recipes to share, and Ms. Lyre was... well. Ms. Lyre.

Harry had made many friends and acquaintances during his two years of apprenticeship with Mr. Cassowary, including the man himself. Which was why the aging wizard was the first to drop by for a drink and visit, alongside the latest open-minded wizard or witch he had managed to convince to accompany him. The most frequent and willing victims were, of course, fellow shop owners that Mr. Cassowary had stumbled across. Sometimes, they were people he had struck up conversation with on his way over to Harry, his casual questions about the weather morphing into those about their plans for the evening, if they were hungry, and would they be willing to try a new pub that opened just down the next alley?

One day, Mr. Cassowary managed to bring over a customer that fit both categories.

* * *

Harry frowned, considering the rain that was pouring down in buckets onto the streets. He didn’t want Mr. Cassowary to make the trek in this dreary weather, but he knew that nothing would convince the man otherwise. “I’ll be there so often that you’ll want to throw me out eventually,” he had laughed all those months ago, patting Harry on the shoulder as he protested. He’d never do that to Mr. Cassowary! “We’ll make a game of it, you and I. If I can’t make it myself, I’ll be sure to send another customer in my place.” He winked, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling in merriment. “Let me know if any of them are particularly interesting, won’t you?”

At the time, Harry had simply tilted his head in confusion, brows furrowing as he answered with a hesitant, “Alright, Mr. Cassowary.” Was the aging broom shop owner looking for another apprentice? Was Harry supposed to be subtly asking new customers interview questions while serving them a pint?

He had just turned to head back into the kitchen when the door chimed and a cloaked figure made their way inside. Harry summoned several warm towels with a flick of his wand, wincing in sympathy at how drenched the person was, knowing that he’d be shivering if he were out in the rain without an impervious charm cast on his robes. 

“Sorry about the rain,” Harry said, walking towards the cloaked figure. “It’s gotten pretty bad, hasn’t it?”

“It’s not so bad,” a muffled voice responded, clearly feminine. Something about it made Harry feel a keen sense of deja vu for a moment. He shook the feeling off, spelling the warm towels to float behind him, waiting to see where the customer would choose to sit. A pale hand withdrew from the folds, pushing back the hood.

Harry couldn’t stop the dizziness that overcame him.

Standing before him was none other than Cho Chang.

He couldn’t speak, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Distantly, he thought he should feel mortified, having been reduced to the same state he had often found himself in when talking to the Ravenclaw back in fourth year.

However, his friendship with Severus had trained him for moments like this. Cho Chang stood before him, yes, but she wasn’t the one from his world. A dear stranger was all she was. The thought brought a small smile to his face, allowing him to greet the new customer and seat her without further ado. She accepted the towels gratefully, introducing herself as one of the new apprentices on Diagon Alley working under Madam Silvoak, and was sent here by Mr. Cassowary. The last detail had something loaded attached to it, something dark flitting across the witch’s expression. 

Harry sighed, exasperated yet fond. It seems the wizard had roped someone busy and unwilling into visiting the pub. He’d have to have a chat with the man about his aggressive salesperson tendencies.

“He’s a good man, Mr. Cassowary- if a little headstrong,” Harry chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair. “Please don’t pay much heed to his words. He’s only trying to help me gain more popularity since I’m just starting out. Let’s hope my food is enough to convince my customers to return, and not just his pestering- now, what can I get you?”

The witch blinked, a little blank. Had Harry really rambled long enough to seem that weird? She eventually smiled, a hesitant little thing, before nodding and placing her order of a slice of meringue and lemon pie.

Harry waved his fingers on his way into the kitchen. “It’ll be out in just a few.”

Humming, he smiled as he began whipping the cream needed for the pie.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are very much appreciated (*´︶`*)♡


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